


Off

by 8The_Great_Perhaps8



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:16:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8The_Great_Perhaps8/pseuds/8The_Great_Perhaps8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's off in their world, but they can't figure out what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off

He's thirteen and he's been in foster care as long as he can remember, though no one will tell him why. His dreams are filled with swords and puppets and a planet made out of the deepest shade of purple you can imagine. He's never left the state of Texas in his life, but he feels like he's traversed endless universes and seen things that other people can only dream of. His favorite colors are blue, green, and lavender, but he can't tell anyone why. He loves it when it's windy and sunny, because that's when things are clearest. He hates dogs and crows and guns, because a dog tried to kill green and green ended up killing him on accident. The crows follow him and tease him and make him think of ghosts and fighters. He makes music on his computer and stays away from his guardians.  
He only drinks grape juice and squirrels his food away wherever he can. He only ever used to trick-or-treat in knight costumes for Halloween, but he doesn't remember why. He raps sometimes, about forgetting and abandonment and missing people he never really knew, and everyone thinks that they're about someone from his past-the only person that was ever really related to him, but he doesn't remember them the way he actually remembers the people the raps are about. He always has to know the time, and he always does, no matter what.People get to be too much for him, sometimes, and he'll run away for a little bit to look at the stars, and see galaxies that are tinted all different colors of the rainbow-like ones that are colored purple and blue and green.  
He's missing something, something blue and green and purple.

She's thirteen and she's lived all alone on her little island for ten years, and the only thing keeping her sane is her dreams. She dreams of rifles (but Grandpa was a pacifist) and ancient ruins (but her island doesn't have any ruins) and people who were her best friends (but she's never left the island). She draws pictures of a planet in all different shades of gold and yellow. She dreams about Bec and teleportation and robots, which are all ridiculous for different reasons-Bec can barely even walk around anymore, much less teleport, and she could barely use the computer, before the windmill broke and the electricity stopped coming.  
She doesn't have electricity, or running water, or friends (which she read about in a book) but she tries her best to be happy, because Bec likes it when she's happy. He brings her lots of bright dye so that she can make the thread for her reminders. Her favorite colors to use for reminders are red, purple, and blue, and she's had a red string around her left index finger for as long as she can remember. She must've forgotten what she was supposed to remember. She has three reminders that she's forgotten-one blue and one red and one purple. She likes to find the colors on the island-blue is in the sky, the birds, some of the fish she catches. Purple is in the flowers, sea anemones in the tide pools, and sea glass that washes on shore. There's red in the lizards, and the lava that hasn't come out of the volcano in years, and in the macaws that parrot back everything she says. When it isn't cloudy out, she'll go out with Bec to the biggest clearing on the island, and the wind will blow and time will pass and she'll look at the stars.  
She's forgetting something that she has reminders for, a purple reminder and a red reminder and a blue reminder.

He's thirteen and his life has always been completely ordinary. His house is average size, and his dad has an average job (he used to think he was a clown, for some reason), he goes to an average school, he has average grades, and he looks average (he doesn't have any friends, though. He's an outsider). Nothing out of the ordinary has ever happened to him, and for some reason he can't help feeling that that's wrong.  
He used to be special, he thinks to himself sometimes. He thinks lots of little things about how he was maybe special-he used to have superpowers, maybe (he could manipulate the wind, he likes to imagine-he can do special tricks with it sometimes), or he was friends with aliens (he wrote a story in second grade about a spider alien who made a little boy a god), or he saved the world (but whenever he thinks of that, all he remembers is the world ending horribly with meteors crashing everywhere and destroying everything-), or he turned into the wind and appeared everywhere ( _she's hunting you get away from her get away get away get away she's coming-_ ). But nothing ever seems totally real, except in his dreams. He dreams about a planet made entirely out of gold and amber, and yellow lizards that blow enormous bubbles, and the colors red and green and purple. When it's nice and warm outside, he'll lie on the picnic table and look at the stars and watch the time tick-tock-tick-tock away.  
He can't help feeling that he's forgetting something-something that's red and something that's green and something that's purple.

 

She's thirteen years old and her mother is a drunk bitch who's ignored her since she turned ten and started talking back. She started writing things when her mother started complaining about her sharp tongue, because at least writing is quiet and no one complains. She won an award for it last year, for the story she wrote where four foolish children played a dangerous game with terrible consequences, and the characters were only colors-Blue, who controlled the wind, Purple, who could see the future, Red, who travelled through time and met millions of other dead Reds, and Green, who could see everything in all of space and could change it with a snap of her fingers.  
She dreams about them, sometimes-she tries to dismiss it, all authors dream about their characters sometimes, of course they do, who doesn't?-but her characters are different in her head. Red is there, with her, on the dark purple planet that is always rife with revolution and ridiculous rumors. He's talking to her, but she doesn't know what about. He's always holding a ball of purple yarn, which doesn't make sense-she doesn't knit, why would he have yarn in her dream? He'll toss it to her, lightly, and she'll catch it. The dream always ends then, right when she's about to open her mouth, and she-an aspiring therapist since the age of six and an avid reader of numerous psychology journals-she has no idea what her dreams mean. Either she and Red are playing on a planet made out of amethyst, or Red and Blue and Green are in front of her, and they're shouting for her to come with them. She ignores it, for the most part, and decides to take up stargazing.  
She stretches out in the observatory and gazes into the sky, the wind whipping trees around and knocking out her internet, her little kitten alarm clock tick-tick-tick-ticking through the night, and space stretching out into infinite forevers above her. She's missing something, she knows it, but she'll make things that match with them until she can remember.


End file.
